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  He softened his tone. “Cálmate.” He approached her again, raising an arm as if to put it around her shoulders.

  She narrowed her eyes at him.

  He held up both hands, palms out, in surrender. “I know you’re going through hell right now, Veranda, but try to focus on the investigation so we can arrest whoever is responsible.”

  The fact that Diaz was right irritated her further. “I’ll get to work right away,” she said.

  He nodded. “I’ll have one of the other squads take over. You can give them a complete briefing. For the lead investigator, I’ll pick a senior detective who’s—”

  Not only was he about to pull her off the case, he intended to reassign it to a completely different squad.

  “I’m the best one to investigate this, Lieutenant. And you know it.”

  He sighed. “You can’t investigate a case where you’re the victim.”

  She scrambled to counter his argument. “Then put Sam on point. I promise to follow his lead.”

  “But it’s your squad. Your people.”

  “Exactly my point,” she said, willing him to see her perspective.

  Diaz’s obsessive rule following would set the investigation back. She had to make him see beyond the regs.

  “My team knows all the background.” She flung her hands up in the air. “What are we going to do? Turn our case files over to another squad and get them up to speed while the trail goes cold?”

  Diaz dragged a hand through his thick, close-cropped hair. Looking into his dark eyes, she saw an inner battle raging. Aware silence was the best option, she opted not to answer, giving him time to consider.

  Finally, he spoke. “I’d lock you away in a safe house, but we both know how that would end.” This time he did touch her, grasping both of her arms. “You disregard orders. You go rogue.” He released her with a slight shove. “You’re impossible to supervise.”

  Sensing his crumbling resolve, she took advantage. “Lieutenant, you almost died this morning because you didn’t listen to me.” He opened his mouth as if to argue, but she forged ahead, softening her tone. “Don’t make that mistake again.”

  He closed his eyes and let out a stream of Spanish expletives.

  She held her breath and waited.

  His eyes opened, fastening on hers. “Your squad will continue to investigate. But Detective Stark will have the lead.” He jabbed a finger at her. “Not you.”

  She inclined her head to show her agreement, unwilling to betray her thoughts with words. Silently, she turned to look at what had been her house. She easily spotted Cole, his white arson investigator’s helmet contrasting with the yellow ones worn by the firefighters.

  Her chest tightened. Not only had she lost her home, she might have lost her man. Unbidden, a stray thought filtered up from the dark recesses of her mind. Cole is better off without me. If he had stayed behind to wait for her, he’d be dead now. Because he’d fallen for a woman with a target on her back. And a certain tattoo on her chest.

  Anyone I love is at risk. Something else occurred to her. Something truly horrific. Her head snapped back to Diaz. “My family,” she said, anxiety rocketing through her. What if this hadn’t been the only explosion tonight? “I have to check on them.”

  Diaz’s voice became soothing again. “I called your mother on the way here. Everyone’s fine. I sent a South Mountain precinct patrol unit to the family property to keep watch for the night.”

  A wave of relief washed through her, followed quickly by remorse. She should have thought of her family’s safety before Diaz did.

  “Thank you, Lieutenant. That was very thoughtful.”

  He drew nearer. “I take care of my own.”

  She’d heard the sentiment from supervisors before when referring to their subordinates, but Diaz made the expression sound intimate. She considered asking him what he meant but decided to let it go and focus on the clear and present danger.

  She thought about her kickboxing lessons. Jake, her instructor, had taught her two critical things every fighter must do before entering the ring. First, be ruthlessly honest with yourself. Identify any weaknesses. Second, eliminate those weaknesses. Failing that, minimize them.

  She couldn’t help having a family, but she could prevent a man from being in her life. Until her personal war ended, she couldn’t allow anyone to get close to her. She had dared to take on the Villalobos cartel. And they had detected her greatest vulnerability even before she did.

  Her heart.

  9

  Villalobos family

  compound, Mexico

  Daria sat forward, perched on the plush leather chair facing her father’s elaborate mahogany desk. Finished delivering her report, she gripped the overstuffed arms with knuckle-whitening force and gazed through the tall mullioned window. The morning sun painted the landscape with soft pastel hues in stark contrast to the dark sense of foreboding seeping through her as she waited for El Lobo’s judgment.

  When her father learned of the second failed attempt, he had summoned her to appear before him immediately. Such a directive from Hector Villalobos required instant compliance, even from his daughter.

  Still edgy and exhausted after her predawn flight to the family compound, she was far from prepared to defend herself. She’d longed for sleep during the journey, but the prisoner’s constant wails and pleas for mercy had interrupted her nap. Even after duct-taping Pedro’s mouth, the prospect of facing El Lobo upon arriving in Mexico had prevented her from getting any rest.

  Unnerved by her father’s silence, she watched him reposition the pieces of his ivory desk set with infinite care, still not looking at her. His meticulous movements and placid expression spiked her adrenalin. Unlike men who yelled and broke things when angered, her father always grew calmer and quieter.

  “Adolfo and Salazar are here for a reason,” Hector said.

  She swallowed. Her father preferred an audience when he doled out punishments. She cut her eyes to the right, where her older brother, Adolfo, stood ramrod straight with his back against the wall, refusing to meet her gaze. Not good.

  She swiveled her head to the left and felt a rush of pure hatred. Salazar occupied the chair next to hers as if he belonged there. She caught a fleeting expression of ice cold fury on his face before he schooled his features into his customary inscrutable mask. Also not good.

  Smoothing her slacks with nervous fingers, she faced her father. “What is it, Papá?”

  He placed the letter opener down on the blotter and deigned to look at her for the first time since her arrival. Her father spoke in formal, elegant Spanish. His crisp white suit, perfectly barbered goatee, and manicured nails belied the squalor of the Mexico City barrio where he grew up in abject poverty. Many people had died because of El Lobo’s determination to distance himself from his humble beginnings.

  “Your explanations sound like excuses to me, mi’ja.”

  After gesturing for her to take a seat, her father had listened without interruption while she justified her actions over the past twenty-four hours. She had spoken to his profile as he steepled his fingers and leaned back in his leather swivel chair gazing up at the ceiling. Despite her detailed account of events, he’d concluded she was at fault.

  “But how would I know that bitch detective would leave her house at night?” She tried to keep any sign of pleading out of her voice. “Cruz was at home with her lover. Why would she leave?”

  Daria had seen surveillance pictures of the fireman. If he had been in her bed, she would have kept him busy until dawn.

  Her father lowered his voice to a dangerous whisper. “Your man dumped Guillermo Pequeño’s body where someone would find it.”

  His emphasis on the word your laid the blame squarely on her shoulders.

  “The police were called for a body that had been blown up, just like Oscar Cabrera
was earlier the same morning,” Hector continued. “You should have known they would assign Cruz to investigate.”

  Her father had made it clear he considered avoiding responsibility a sign of weak leadership. A true leader readily accepted praise or blame. Still, she tried to lessen the damage. “I ordered Pedro to dispose of the body far away from my South Mountain facility. I had no idea he would throw it in a downtown canal.”

  Salazar broke his silence. “Then Pedro was either too stupid to weigh the bag down, or too lazy to drive it out into the desert for the buzzards.” He lifted a sardonic brow at her. “Your instructions weren’t good enough.”

  Daria’s blood boiled. The bastard had her father’s ear, and he continued to undermine her at every opportunity. She rounded on him. “How dare you criticize me?”

  “We are far beyond criticism, Daria.” Salazar’s flared nostrils betrayed the anger raging beneath his calm exterior. “I am here to accuse you.”

  She made a pretext of innocence, rearing back in her seat. “Of what?”

  Salazar cut his eyes to Hector, who nodded. The silent communication told Daria her troubles were exponentially worse than she’d believed. Her father had granted permission for this attack in advance.

  Like a panther, Salazar slowly rose from his chair to glare down at her. “You planted evidence for the police to find. Evidence against me.”

  She shot to her feet, figuring a strong offense was her best strategy. “Bullshit.”

  He stepped closer, invading her personal space. “We intercepted an alert through Interpol early this morning.” His hot breath fanned her face. “The police found pieces of a plastic water bottle in the storage unit where Oscar Cabrera’s body exploded. My fingerprints were on some of the fragments, which is interesting.” He tilted his head in mock confusion. “Because I haven’t been in Phoenix for weeks and the last place I drank a bottle of water was at your home.”

  She’d prepared for this. Her father had forced her to take Salazar in when he traveled to Phoenix recently. A wanted fugitive, Salazar’s options had been limited.

  “My men work at my house. They reuse plastic bottles often.” She tried not to sound too rehearsed. “They half fill them to freeze so they can have cold water for hours.”

  This would have the ring of truth. Salazar had seen them do it. Saving one of Salazar’s used bottles had been a stroke of genius.

  Her accuser didn’t look appeased. “What about the prisoner you chose? Why Oscar Cabrera?”

  She sensed the trap. Salazar and Cabrera had been in the same special forces unit in the military. They’d been close. Until Cabrera took a job with a rival cartel.

  “The cabrón had it coming.” She flung out a hand in a show of exasperation. “I wanted to draw Cruz to the scene. I picked the best target to make sure she came.” She lifted her chin. “And it worked.”

  “You could have used a different prisoner. Our brand seared onto any man’s chest would have brought Cruz.” He shook his head. “But no. You chose Cabrera because of my past association with him. Another way to link me to the crime.”

  She stole a glance at her father, wondering if he agreed with Salazar’s assessment. As usual, El Lobo’s expression revealed nothing. She doubled down. “I did what I had to.” She jabbed a finger into Salazar’s broad chest. “And I don’t answer to you.”

  He caught her wrist. “Never touch me again.” He tightened his grip, forcing a gasp from her lips. “You are a liar, Daria.”

  Hot tears of pain and humiliation stung her eyes. She jerked her wrist, trying to pull free, but he only squeezed harder. “Let me go, you bast—”

  “Daria, stop!” Speaking for the first time, Adolfo pushed away from the office wall to stand next to her. “Not another word.” He cleared his throat and turned to their father. “Salazar is already a wanted man. Another warrant won’t make a difference. But Daria can still operate freely in the US because no one suspects her.”

  She seldom valued anything Adolfo had to say, but she appreciated his intervention this time. She had almost crossed a line.

  Hector inclined his head toward Salazar. “Let her go.” He gave her a shrewd look. “I have made my decision.”

  Daria forced herself not to moan with relief when Salazar released his bone-crushing hold. She rubbed her wrist and shot him a glare that promised retribution before searching El Lobo’s rugged face, where she found no fatherly compassion whatsoever. “What decision?”

  “In a moment.” Hector glanced at Adolfo. “First, where is Pedro?”

  “In the dungeon awaiting your verdict, as ordered,” Adolfo said.

  Daria pictured Pedro shackled to a wall in the dank underground chamber. She couldn’t muster any sympathy for him. His incompetence had cost her dearly.

  “I will see to him later,” Hector said, then aimed his next remark at Daria. “You will prepare something for Pedro before you go back to Phoenix.”

  Every muscle in her body went rigid. Hector had selected her to play a role in the punishment, which meant he had convicted her along with Pedro. She held her tongue and waited.

  “That makes twice you have failed me, mi’ja.” Hector smoothed his lapel. “My terms haven’t changed.”

  Daria sensed one of her father’s overblown speeches coming. He did not disappoint.

  “Clearly, I was correct in my assessment that you are not ready to lead this organization.” Hector paused, as if weighing his next words. “It’s not merely because you are a woman, mi’ja.” He jerked his chin at Adolfo, who had resumed his previous stance against the wall. “Your older brother is a man, but he has no cojones.”

  Adolfo remained silent, a muscle twitch in his jaw the only visible reaction to his father’s cutting remark.

  Pride lit her father’s features as his gaze turned to the man next to her. “But fate has smiled upon me and given me Salazar.”

  As usual, Salazar showed no emotion. He had proven himself to be ruthless and bold, making him a deadly instrument for Hector to wield as he consolidated power over the years. Everyone feared Salazar, El Matador. But no one outside of this room knew his secret.

  Daria involuntarily touched the small scar on her cheek. She would not make the mistake of declaring open warfare against Salazar again. Instead, she would get rid of him. Permanently.

  Salazar had made a mortal enemy when he maneuvered himself into her position in the family hierarchy. She had plotted her revenge for weeks, devising a scheme to eliminate Cruz and frame Salazar at the same time. But things hadn’t gone to plan, and Salazar was once again capitalizing on the opportunity to enhance his status with El Lobo.

  Hector turned back to her. “You had your chance. I am out of patience.”

  She resorted to begging, hating herself for doing so. “Please, Papá, I need—”

  Hector didn’t wait for her to finish. “I’m putting Salazar in charge of your part of the operation. He will stay here for the Día de los Muertos celebration, then go to Phoenix with some of our coyotes.”

  Daria fought the despair threatening to overwhelm her. A surge of righteous anger emboldened her. “I can take care of my business.”

  “I have made up my mind.” He gave her his back, addressing Salazar. “After you leave for Phoenix, I will oversee your duties here in your absence.”

  Her father’s callous dismissal wounded her to the core. He wouldn’t listen to her arguments. Wouldn’t accept her explanation. Wouldn’t show her basic respect. The ground had shifted beneath her, leaving her standing alone, irrelevant, invisible to the men in the room.

  Adolfo took a step forward from the shadows, eyes locked on his father. “I can help you.”

  The deck had been reshuffled, and her dear brother wanted new cards.

  Hector shook his head, a slight curl to his upper lip. “Salazar has almost completed the factory here in Mexico,
I can oversee the final construction when he leaves for the US.”

  Daria blinked in shock at Salazar’s latest incursion. She had been the one to foresee the burgeoning opioid market and propose a transition to a hybrid operation. Her research had shown they could refit their manufacturing plant to double their profits if they could establish a foothold in the US. She’d begun the redesign, ordered parts, and bribed the appropriate officials. She’d returned to Phoenix assuming her father or Adolfo would finish the project, but apparently Salazar had taken over. Now her father seemed to believe the plan was his idea in the first place.

  She was the one with vision. She should have been named successor to the family business. But she was a woman, so her father had turned to Salazar, and the bastard had stolen her future.

  She composed herself, refusing to let her pain show, and addressed her father. “What am I supposed to do?”

  He turned as if he’d forgotten she was there, then tapped the silver stripe in the middle of his dark goatee with his forefinger as he regarded her. “You still have the kill order for Veranda Cruz, but Salazar must approve your plan next time. As of now, you answer to him.”

  She bit back a scream of rage. “If that’s all, I’ll go to my suite until the plane is ready to fly back to Phoenix.”

  All three men exchanged meaningful looks. She knew they disapproved of her private activities, and she didn’t care.

  Her father gave her a curt nod.

  She stalked to the office door, flung it open, and strode out. Three of her guards stood at attention outside the closed door, as she had ordered. Their apprehension at her sudden appearance pleased her. These were her men. Under her control. And they knew it. She tapped her chin in a parody of her father, looking them up and down. The one on the left was pure eye candy and the one on the right had the stamina of a bull. The ugly brute in the middle, however, desperately needed a shower.

  She pointed to the left and the right. “José and Umberto, follow me.”

  The man in the middle cast a pitying look at his two comrades.